


Consequences of a Job Gone Bad

by Atanih88



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title says, written for the prompt, <i>'One of them is being held hostage/about to be killed. He is given one last phonecall and calls the other but does not tell him what is happening. He just talks about random stuff, until he's about to hang up, and then tells the other that he loves him.Happy ending or not, up to anon!'</i>, at inception_kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences of a Job Gone Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd sorry ^^; This was first posted on another one of my DW accounts under a different username (h.littlemuse). Have posted a note there linking to this journal now so there is no confusion. Sorry!

The light from outside is pouring in and Arthur squints his eyes against it. It's a nice office and the light bounces off the beige walls. The desk is large, dark varnished wood and there's a tall plant tucked into the corner.

The phone is pressed to his ear and it slips a little against his damp skin. He can hear the repetitive beep, the phone call attempting to connect. It's quiet around him but he can hear the distant sound of phones ringing outside the closed door and the sounds of cars filtering into the room through the window.

Finally it stops and the phone is picked up.

He hears Eames sigh on the other end and Arthur smiles, wincing a little when it aggravates the cut on the corner of his mouth.

"Well. You're taking your time aren’t you?"

Arthur shifts in his seat and tries not to move his leg. It's a comfortable seat too. The chair is just as expensive looking as the rest of the room. He manages a chuckle. "Mr Eames, I do believe I'm not late yet."

"Yes well. 'Yet' implies lateness will happen eventually doesn't it?" Eames muttered.

A second later Arthur hears him call for the waiter and order another drink. He arch's an eyebrow—almost curses when he feels the uncomfortable pull on a swollen eye lid. "It's a bit early to be hitting the bar Eames."

"Arthur. As much as it pains me to admit, I worked my ass off to get you to agree to this, so forgive me if I feel like rewarding myself with a drink or two. I'm having a Mojito by the way, its hitting all the right spots."

Arthur lifts his head, shaking it. The smile lingers on his face. He fixes his eyes on the Newton's cradle on the desk, eyes following the alternating knock-knock of the silver spheres on either side.

"Should I apologise for not agreeing sooner?" He asks, thinking that maybe he really should.

On Eames' end there's the clinking of ice on glass and a snort from Eames. "You? Apologise? Well, well. Maybe I'm not the only one who's been hitting the bar, hmm?"

Arthur feels cold metal touch the skin of his nape, feels it tap, once, twice. Arthur breathes deep, nostrils flaring as he registers the way his pulse picks up pace. This is good, he thinks as he calms again. Helplessness and fear aren't emotions he's all that fond of. He doesn't want to fall into them now.

"So what time are you getting here then? Because I tell you, I went all out. There's a honeymoon suite with your name on it, champagne on ice and even the latest in weaponry just to get you horny a little faster. Notice how familiar I am with your kinks darling."

And just like that Arthur is able to quirk a smile again. "They didn't have anything else besides champagne? Besides, it's not a honeymoon. If you're going to call it anything call it a first date."

"We've been dancing around each other for a while, I'm pretty sure we both know this is as far from a first date as it gets. Not to mention that if this _was_ a first date, it'd mean that I'd be expecting you to put out on the first night. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, now would it?"

The barrel presses harder against his nape. The barrel is thicker than that of a normal gun. Arthur lifts a hand and rubs at his eyes. Not the slightest tremble in sight. "I guess."

There was a pause from Eames and then he was speaking again with a surprised laugh. "Arthur you _have_ been drinking."

Arthur can't laugh this time though. "Eames..."

"What is it?" The laughter was still there, clinging to his words. "Going to profess your undying love for me next?"

Arthur lets out another sigh. "I do."

"Do what?"

He licks his lips because they're feeling so dry right now. His cut stings but he ignores it. "Figure it out."

There's silence.

Arthur hears the waiter ask Eames if he'd like some more ice but there's no reply, just a stumped silence accompanied by the low rushing sound that comes with over the phone distance.

"Arthur—" Eames' voice is low now.

It makes the fingers Arthur has pressed to his eyes tremble for the first time. "I have to go." Arthur says, voice just as low and serious.

"Well... get here soon will you?" Eames' words come just a little too fast, a little too filled with anticipation.

"Yeah. I will."

"Alright then, give me a call when you get here."

Arthur nods, not even aware that he's doing it until he feels the barrel shifting down over his skin. "Okay." He hangs up and pulls the phone away to stare at the still lit screen.

The gun at his neck nudges him again, this time harder and Arthur turns his head to level an unimpressed look at the dick hiding behind the mask.

"All done?"

Arthur's lip lifts in a snarl. "Yeah I'm done."

"Good."

Arthur watched him take a step back and steady the gun on Arthur's face.

"Now set it down, stand up and turn around."

Arthur does as told and turns around, wincing as the blood rushes into his damaged leg, making it feel like his thigh is going to burst. He considers taking another step back and leaning against the desk for support but he keeps his back rigid, even slips his hands into his pockets. His chin tilts back.

He hopes the stains after this will be fucking permanent so this asshole can't get another one of his stupid ass-kissing rats to scrub it off. There are at least two of them outside the door. Between seven and nine in the lower floor.

The dick has his finger on the trigger and Arthur sees the little curl to his mouth. Greed.

Arthur really wouldn't have minded apologising. But now this is just something else he won't get to apologise for. Sometimes that's just the way things are.

But then again—greedy people make stupid people.

Arthur closes his eyes. He drops a little more of his weight onto his right leg. It hurts like a bitch but—it's do-able and it isn't going to get any better anytime soon.

Eames will be pissed when he doesn't show up.

On time anyway.

The gun is silent when it's fired. Arthur chokes as the bullet embeds itself right above his knee on his already wounded leg—his elbow has already crushed the bastard's windpipe and it takes another second as they crumple to the floor together for Arthur to make sure the second one punctures a lung and the other one goes off right under the chin.

The man slumps against him and almost takes him down, making Arthur bite his bottom lip to keep from yelling out loud as his weight presses down on his leg wounds.

Arthur shifts him onto the ground as quietly as possible.

Well. Maybe Eames will get it anyway.

But first, Arthur will have to avoid the henchmen and drag his way out of there.

Cursing under his breath, he begins the pain in the ass task of getting to his feet.


End file.
